


What Almost Was

by spaghettixday



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaghettixday/pseuds/spaghettixday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times a family tried to adopt Matt + the one time the Nelsons succeeded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first thing I've posted here, so forgive me if I'm not up to par on tags and such.
> 
> This is based of a prompt found here: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1401360#cmt1401360

**Prologue:**

“I ever tell you I was almost adopted?”

Matt hadn’t even meant to say the words. Just two shots and his tongue was already loose, telling him that his heightened senses left him more sensitive to alcohol. Much more and he’d probably spill all of his secrets to his best friend, things he didn’t want to think about, things he didn’t want anyone to know about. Although almost being adopted was definitely included in the “things he didn’t want anyone to know about” category.

“No shit?” Foggy asked, his words syrupy to Matt’s ears: thick and slow. The alcohol was affecting him as well.

“Yeah.” Matt held up a hand in Foggy’s general direction, his fingers splayed. “Five times.”

“Wow. Shit.”

Matt regretted saying it, regretted telling him how many times. Foggy was the one person who didn’t pity him for being blind, the one person who treated him like… well, like a _person_. “Yeah. Um…” He shook his head, the perpetual flames of his world swirling together in a giant vortex. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve had too much to drink.”

“You and me both, buddy.” Foggy belched – why did he have to eat onions with _every_ meal? – and set his glass on the counter before sliding off of the stool. “Come on, I’ve got a Punjabi test to pretend to study for.”

\---

Light snoring crossed the room. Foggy was out, fell asleep almost as soon as they returned to their dorm. Matt, on the other hand, was entirely awake. He’d tried to forget about the families that had tried – and failed – to take him in, tried to focus only on his future. Matt had had his dad, and that was enough for him.

Matt didn’t have to hear his own heart beat to know he was lying to himself.


	2. The First Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and kind words!

**Chapter One:**

Some days were better than others. Some days, he could turn into himself, ignore all of the sensory input that bombarded him. Jack had doted on him on those days, trying his best just to get Matty to smile. But it was different back then. Less intense. On the bad days then, everything had seemed sharper, but still manageable. Now, Matt only experienced pain.

The first family came in the form of Angela and Bradley Walker, a young couple who wanted to take in a poor soul because they felt it was what God wanted them to do. They fawned over Matt at the orphanage, the poor boy who’d been blinded after saving a man’s life, the poor boy who’d lost his father in a tragic accident, the poor boy, the poor boy… It was the only words they’d used to describe him. Matt kept the smile on his face that the Sisters expected them to wear around potential foster or adoptive parents, but beneath it, a sour feeling of unease lurked.

The feeling continued even after they took him home, when they took him to church, introducing him to everyone and anyone they could possibly talk to. There were too many of them, too many heartbeats, voices, perfumes, to keep track of, blending into the noises of the church – the constant creaking of the benches as the parishioners shifted, the echoes that reverberated off of vaulted ceilings and the stone walls, the smells that were so overwhelming he couldn’t distinguish them – and making the fire of his world all the more intense. Matt spent the entire service hunched up, tense, not wanting to upset his foster family by asking them to leave.

The Walkers doted on him, Angela more than Bradley. Bradley tried, but he didn’t know how to treat a blind boy. Matt could sense the apprehension, coming off of him in waves, every time he even looked at Matt. Matt still offered him the same smiles he gave Angela, even if he didn’t feel them as much as he felt them for Angela.

Angela was the light in his life, a sweet presence of sugar and fruity soaps, a warmth he hadn’t known he’d wanted. She brushed back the hair on his forehead when it fell in his face, welcomed him home from school every day with a hug, baked him fresh cookies to snack on while he finished his school work. Matt meant every smile and word that he gave her, and he prayed that everything would stay as it was.

A storm was rising. The good came with bad, and it was the bad that left the Walkers hopeless, terrified of the shadows that came with this young boy who would go from aloof to howling in pain in a matter of minutes. He would wake in the middle of the night, screaming about the noise from the city, palms squeezed against his ears in an attempt to keep the noise out. He would launch into a fit when Angela began lighting the _ridiculous_ amount of candles, all of them composed of different waxes, different fragrances, different chemicals that released when cotton wick singed and the wax began to melt, the smells all blurring into one overwhelming sensation that left his head pounding and his nasal cavity burning. He moaned and cried when Bradley cleaned the apartment from floor to ceiling once a week with the cleaners, the taste of bleach and chlorine and other chemicals burning his tongue and his mouth, leaving him vomiting until his stomach could produce no more. Angela tried to hold him, to comfort him, but the pounding of her heart in his ears, the heat of her skin against his, he only pushed her away.

“Something’s wrong with him, Angela. Something we can’t fix.” Matt heard Bradley tell Angela they should give him back, that the orphanage could offer him better help than they could. A spark of hatred ignited in him the first night he heard it, growing every time he heard Bradley tell her to give him back. “We can’t, Bradley. He needs us.” Every time it was the same. Angela still believed in him.

“Maybe you’re right, Bradley.”

 Matt was numb when they returned him, couldn’t feel the last warm hug that Angela offered him, couldn’t hear the soft apology she whispered into his hair. “We just can’t handle him,” Bradley told the Sister that greeted them.

Matt felt the Sister place a protective hand on his shoulder. “ _Handle_ him?” Her voice surged with rage, alarming in a nun. “He’s a _child_ , not a _dog_.”

“Sister Maggie!” Sister Maggie tensed, ready for punishment. “Return Matthew to his room. I’ll talk with the Walkers.”

“Yes, Mother Superior.”

Sister Maggie ran a hand through Matt’s hair as she sat him on his bed, the same bed that bowed in the middle and smelled of stale milk that he’d had before. “It’s okay, Matthew. They didn’t deserve a lovely boy like you. You’ll find someone better.” In a rare show of affection, she pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “I promise. You’ll find a wonderful family.”

Matt swallowed back his tears. “But what if I don’t?”

\---

The first time Matt meets Foggy’s family is for a wedding. He tries everything to get out of it, but Foggy is having none of his excuses. “I don’t have a suit, Foggy.” “No one has a suit, Matty.” “I don’t want to be in the way.” “Matt, when are you _ever_ in the way?” “You know I don’t like crowds.” “We’ll just stay for a little while. I can’t be the best looking guy there the whole time. Gotta give the groom his moment in the sun.” Matt concedes with a long and heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll go. But one hour. That’s all.”

One hour comes and goes. Two hours and Foggy’s grandmother is trying to get him eat more and more because “you are entirely too skinny, young man, are you eating properly?” Three hours and Foggy’s sister is sharing embarrassing stories about her brother that leave Matt crying from laughing. Four hours and Foggy is trying to get Matt to do the Macarena and the Cha Cha Slide and a slow dance with him because “everyone is dancing, buddy, we can’t be the only ones not on the dance floor!” and they’ve had entirely too much alcohol because Matt even agrees to the slow dance, which Foggy turns into a proper waltz.

They stay in Foggy’s childhood home, sleeping on the futon that still smells like Foggy when Matt inhales, a comforting smell, a familiar smell that makes the spinning in his head slow down. “Sorry it lasted longer than an hour,” Foggy says quietly, lying on the futon beside him. “Are you mad?”

“Mad?” Matt laughs. “Are you kidding? Foggy, my face hurts from smiling so much. I’ve never been happier in my life.”

Foggy exhales. Relief. “Good, buddy. I’m glad.”


	3. The Second Family

**Chapter Two:**

With help, Matt reined in his abilities, gained the control that the Walkers could only dream of. When Stick left, he faltered, but he brought himself back. Even so, Stick’s harsh training and sudden abandonment left him a ball of rage, lashing out in a flurry of fists.

For a while, Sister Maggie defended him. He was still hurt from the abandonment of the Walkers, he was upset by Stick’s disappearance, those boys were harassing him, he’s just a child! But one day, Sister Maggie didn’t come to his defense. Mother Superior informed him that Sister Maggie had gone on to new things, but the jump in her heart told him she was lying. Maggie was gone, but not by choice. Matt couldn’t help but feel responsible; it was his fighting, his troublemaking that forced her out. Stick was gone. He wasn’t a soldier. He was thirteen year old boy. Matt stopped fighting.

Nancy Hall, a fifty-eight year old woman whose husband died three years earlier, was charmed by Matt, despite his troubled past. “People without troubles are usually the most boring people you can find.” He was charmed by her as well, despite the smell of chemicals, tobacco, and ash that clung to her like moss to a tree. With his training, he could tune the smell out.

His new home took him out of Manhattan for the first time in his life, to a two story house – an actual _house!_ – in Jamaica, Queens. “Martin and I lived here for thirty-two years, raised two girls, Mindy and Ashley. They’re good girls. Mindy’s in Arizona, Ashley’s in Buffalo. They don’t come around too much, since they got families of their own.” Nancy never stopped talking, the whole car ride from the orphanage to his new home, but Matt didn’t mind. She seemed lonely, just as lonely as he was, and he felt a kindred spirit in her. Matt let her talk, let her tell him about her family, her childhood, the neighborhood he was going to live in, everything she could think of. He relished in it, just having someone to talk to.

Nancy didn’t treat him like the Walkers had. She understood that he was blind, but “blind people still gotta eat!” She taught him to cook. Simple things, since he hadn’t cooked since before he was blinded: eggs, rice, macaroni and cheese, anything that could be timed. They would watch Food Network together, something Nancy enjoyed for the recipe ideas, something Matt enjoyed because they described exactly what they were doing, how things tasted and smelled. The warrior that Stick brought to the surface was being buried deep within him, and Matt was fine with that.

Nancy had already informed him it would just be the two of them for Thanksgiving, just one week away, but he didn’t mind. He couldn’t remember ever having a real Thanksgiving, so Matt couldn’t help but be excited. “This’ll be a real test of cooking, kiddo. Turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, you like green beans? Me neither. No green beans. And rolls. Martin made the best rolls. I could make the exact same recipe the exact same way, but his always tasted better. Oh! And apple pie for dessert. No pumpkin garbage in this house.”

Matt arrived home to silence, the school bus dropping him off right in front of his house. Unusual, since Nancy always greeted him and asked him about his day. Matt let his circle out, expanding his senses to the rest of the house. Not complete silence; the shower in Nancy’s bathroom was running. But… A cold chill washed over him. Something was wrong.

The neighbors were home, the neighbors would help, overwhelming, rein it in, Matt, take a breath. Shirley Jackson opened the door and greeted Matt with a warm hello, a greeting that he interrupted with a shrill cry of “Please, I need help!” Shirley called 9-1-1 while her husband Carl went next door to check on Nancy.

The sirens were quiet when they left.

“I’m sorry to have you return under these circumstances, Matthew. Mrs. Hall, she suffered a stroke and passed out in the shower, hitting her head on the edge of the tub. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

Matt could have done something. He’d sensed her confusion, her sudden inability to even hold a glass in her left hand, the way she lurched as she walked him toward the door. He should have known. If he’d stayed home, like he’d suggested, she would still be alive. She wouldn’t have died alone. He still would have had a family.

Thanksgiving at the orphanage came with dry turkey, instant mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Matt couldn’t bring himself to eat any of it.

\---

“I’m not leaving you here to mope for five days. Five days, Matt! I don’t think the dining halls are even open!” Foggy throws things in a bag as he prepares for the holiday. “Don’t give me the scrunchy face. I don’t even have to turn around to look at you to know you’re doing the scrunchy face.”

“I’m not doing the scrunchy face,” Matt mumbles, letting the scrunchy face fall.

“You better not be.” Foggy pauses and sits on his bed. “Mom would have killed me if I showed up without you. You only met them once and I think they already like you more than me.” Matt can’t help but laugh. “Mom says Grandma Betty is always asking about you to make sure you eat enough.” Matt remembers the woman from the wedding, asking if she could get him more to eat, not because he was blind and incapable, but because she thought he needed some meat on his bones. His smile broadens; someone was actually thinking about him.

Thanksgiving at the Nelson household is almost as raucous as the wedding had been. The crowd is smaller, only Foggy’s parents, his sister, his grandparents, and a handful of aunts, uncles, and cousins. All of them remember Matt from the wedding, and all of them are happy to see him. Matt remembers some of their voices, not all of them, but everyone introduces themselves each time they address him.

The house is full of smells. Wonderful smells, smells that remind him of the few short months he spent with Nancy Hall. Home-cooked food, including mashed potatoes, a turkey that is so juicy Matt thinks he might need a bib, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce… None of it comes from a can, and none of it is instant.

Grandma Betty seats herself to his left, and he can tell she’s sneaking more food onto his plate, but he says nothing about it. Matt eats until he’s sure his stomach will burst out of his abdomen – it’s going to take _hours_ in the gym to make up for this – and then collapses on the sitting room couch between Foggy and Candace, his head tilted back. Relatives are in the other room, settling in for the Saints and Cowboys game, and Foggy has fallen asleep beside him.

Anna calls for Candace to help her with cleanup, and Matt follows. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks, hoping she’ll give him something because he doesn’t want to feel worthless, doesn’t want to hear “No, you’re a guest”.

“Of course, Matty! We can use all the help we can get! How would you like to scrub the dishes? Candace never gets them clean enough, she doesn’t feel to make sure they’re clean.”

Matt happily washes the dishes while Candace rinses them. Everyone is laughing and having a good time and shouting at the Cowboys and Foggy’s snoring loudly on the couch. Five days of this. Matt can’t drop the smile that has etched itself into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate it! To those of you who don't, have a great Thursday!


	4. The Third Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying this! Thank you so much for the feedback!

**Chapter Three:**

Soon after he turned fourteen – not much fanfare, just “Happy birthday, Matthew” from the nuns and a chocolate cupcake during dinner – Matt was taken in by a third family, a family that already had six year old twin daughters of their own, a fourteen year old foster girl, and a twelve year old foster boy. The fact that they had other children was promising, but not promising enough. Matt stopped getting his hopes up when it came to staying in a family.

The Jessup family seemed nice enough. The father, Henry, worked at the docks, while the mother, Alice, was a pre-school teacher. Matt and Ethan shared a room, but as little as they interacted, there may as well have been a wall between them. Matt interacted better with Catherine, although the sudden racing of her heart every time she saw him left him concerned. She wasn’t saying anything, how could she be lying? She wasn’t sick, she was incredibly healthy. It took him two weeks to realize that the reason her heart raced and her face flushed and her voice took on a higher pitch was because she had a crush on him, something he was confused by. In his own mind, Matt still looked like he did the last time he’d seen his reflection: a scrawny nine year old kid. Five years and he had no idea what he looked like; Matt could feel someone’s face to get an idea what they looked like, but when he tried to feel his own, the double input from his fingers feeling his face and his face feeling his fingers just left him confused and still without an idea of what he looked like.

The sounds of sirens were a constant in Brooklyn. Not as constant as in Manhattan, but enough that most nights, Matt couldn’t sleep because of the noise. He would lie awake in his bed on his back, picking at the pills on the rough quilt Alice had given him. When he was younger, before the accident, he would make up stories for what the sirens were and where they were going. He’d never realized how many there were.

Even if he could sleep through the sirens, Matt couldn’t sleep through Henry’s foghorn level snoring down the hall. When the snoring started, the door opened with a creak and Alice exited the bedroom. Matt listened to Alice try to sneak down the stairs without making a sound, but she hit all of the boards that squeaked, all of the steps that groaned. In the dining room, she helped herself to the bottles of liquor kept locked up, carrying a bottle back to the living room with her and nursing it until she passed out on the couch. A nightly ritual that Matt could set a watch to.

During the day, Alice remained sober, although she drank enough coffee to fuel an entire precinct of NYPD’s finest. It was only nighttime drinking, harmless. Jack drank more than Alice ever did, and he always turned out fine. When summer hit and school let out, Matt realized just how bad her drinking was. She didn’t stop drinking. Vodka in her orange juice for breakfast, bourbon in her soda for lunch, and a glass of red wine for dinner, along with the night drinking. Alice was home alone with five children every day, nowhere to go, nothing to do but drink away whatever troubles she had but never spoke about.

“Matty.” Alice was already slurring her words and it wasn’t even noon. “M-Matty. We need to go to the post office. I need to mail this package to my mother.”

“Alice, you can’t go anywhere. You’re drunk.”

He wasn’t expecting the slap, even with his heightened senses. His face burned where her hand contacted. “Don’t speak to me like that!” Alice raged. Matt’s lips parted in shock and his fingers went to his cheek. Alice was suddenly all sweetness, offering an apology that Matt was sure she didn’t mean. “Matty, Matty, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry.” She began to cry and fell to the floor, sobbing in a pile.

Matt left her on the floor.

A week passed before it happened again. Catherine, Matt, and Ethan were in the den, Catherine and Ethan taking turns playing a pinball game that was entirely too loud and made Matt wince with every strange whir and alarm and click. “Cat! Catty!” Matt heard Catherine inhale sharply. “Cat!”

“I’ll see what she wants,” Matt said, rising from the uncomfortable folding chair he’d been seated in. He didn’t miss Ethan’s giggle at “I’ll see.”

Clinking of metal against glass as Alice searched for her keys. “Cat, where’re my keys?”

“Catherine’s busy.”

“Matty!” He hated when she called him that. Jack called him that. No one else. “Help me find my keys.”

“I’m blind, Alice. And you’re drunk. Where’re Iris and Rose?”

The disturbance of the air and the smell of oak and a rich sweetness of whiskey wafting toward him told him that she’d waved her hand in his direction. “They’re staying with my sister in Philadelphia for a few days, and I’m _fine,_ Matty.” Jingling. “Found my keys!”

Matt held out his hand. “Alice, give me the keys. You aren’t driving.”

“I _am_ driving. I’m more than capable. Besides, I’m just going down to the grocery store. Unless you ungrateful little bastards don’t _want_ to eat.”

Matt pressed his lips into a line. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”

A stupid idea, really, he realized when he woke up in the hospital, but it was better him than someone else. Alice made it to the grocery just fine, but she crashed into a fire hydrant on the trip back. They would have been fine, except for the fact that her airbags didn’t deploy, leaving Alice with a laceration on her forehead and Matt with a broken ulna and a concussion. Unlike the last time in the hospital, no one was at his bedside when he woke, no one there to calm him when he launched into a panic.

Alice was arrested and charged with a DWI and child endangerment, and Matt returned to the orphanage once more. He didn’t know what happened to Catherine or Ethan.

No one signed his cast.

\---

Matt hasn’t been to a funeral since the death of his father. He wanted to go to the funeral of his foster mother, Nancy Hall, but her family didn’t want him there. They kept it a private matter, not even announcing the arrangements in her obituary.

The funeral is held in a church, a Protestant church, so different from the Catholic church Matt attended on a semi-regular basis. The high ceilings in the sanctuary were a nightmare for someone sensitive to sounds; this church has low ceilings, smaller rooms, keeping the sound in one area and leaving less confusion and pain. “You okay, buddy?” Foggy asks for the fifth time. Matt informed him about the only other funeral he’d been to, and Foggy spent the entire time making sure he was fine.

“I’m fine. Uncomfortable, but I’ll live.”

“Jesus, Matt, if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to do this.”

Before Matt can chastise Foggy for the blasphemy – in a _church_ , of all places – someone is calling his name. “Matty!” Anna Nelson touches his arm before embracing him in a hug that smells of oleander and detergent and warmth. “I’m so glad you came. Mom would be glad to see you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this. Grandma Betty was a wonderful woman.” He grins. “She was always sneaking food onto my plate.”

Anna laughs. “Yes, yes she was.” She squeezes his arm once more. “Are you boys coming to the house after? I know how busy you are with schooling.”

“Yes, Mother, I’m going to _study_ rather than receive _free food._ ” Anna playfully swats at Foggy before going off to greet someone else. “We are staying for free food, aren’t we? Because if you say no, I may have to ask for a roommate transfer.”

While the church was full of family, friends, and fellow church members who knew Grandma Betty, only family is invited back to the Nelson house, a house that suddenly feels stuffed to the rafters with people. All of them know Matt, greeting him with a warm “Matt!” or “Matty!”, a name that he doesn’t mind coming from their lips. It’s not cold and hateful like Alice’s tone was, but warm and caring like Jack’s had been. The Nelsons are the only people he will let call him Matty. “Matt, you gotta see this!”

“Foggy.”

“Oh, shit, sorry, wrong word. Okay, I’ll just tell you. So there’s this board set up with pictures of Grandma Betty over the years. And you’re in two of them! Remember last Thanksgiving, when she sat beside you? Well, you’ve got the fork almost in your mouth, and she’s scooping another helping of mashed potatoes onto your plate. Same thing in this one, it’s Christmas, you’re laughing at something someone said, probably me, since I’m hilarious and you’re angled in my direction, and Grandma Betty is scooping more green bean casserole onto your plate.” Matt’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, a look Foggy doesn’t miss. “What?”

“There’re pictures of me? Why?”

Foggy scoffs. “Why wouldn’t there be? You’re part of the family.”

“Part of the family.” Foggy’s heart remains steady, but Matt still doesn’t believe him. He’s just being nice, he has to be. Matt fiddles with the strap on his cane, but he remains quiet.

Jack’s funeral was a sad occasion. Matt sat alone in the pew, was offered kind words by people from the gym who knew Jack and Matt, but there was no jovial tone. Immediately after, he was sent to the orphanage, where he grieved alone in his room. Here, everyone is lighthearted, laughing, sharing stories of Grandma Betty, remembering her, honoring her. It’s… It’s nice.

Candace sits to his left, Foggy to his right. Both of them scoop more food onto Matt’s plate. He smiles in the moment because he can tell exactly what they’re doing, but later that night, when they’re back at the dorm and Foggy is snoring on the other side of the room, Matt grieves the loss of the woman he’d barely known and yet loved so much.


	5. The Fourth Family

**Chapter Four:**

Matt had never thought about driving. In Hell’s Kitchen, everything was within walking distance, and if it wasn’t, there was public transportation. Now, at sixteen, driving was the only thing on his mind. A handful of kids in his school were learning how to drive, getting jobs, going on dates, just being independent. Matt at sixteen was the same as Matt at fifteen: an angry kid with trust issues and no idea where he was going in life.

One place he was going: with another family. He didn’t want to, would rather just stay in the orphanage and avoid the abandonment of yet another family. But Matt wasn’t eighteen, so the choice wasn’t his to make.

His new family took him back to Jamaica, Queens, just a few short blocks from where he’d lived with Nancy. Jason and Sara Strong, a middle-aged couple with no children of their own, reminded him of the Walkers: a couple who took in a poor boy because they felt it was their duty. Unlike the Walkers, the Strongs didn’t parade him in front of their fellow churchgoers. The Strongs rarely even went to church, although when they did, they attended a Protestant church, something Matt was uncomfortable with.

Jason and Sara Strong were both renowned surgeons, Sara specializing in thoracic surgery, Jason in neurosurgery. With their hours, more often than not, Matt was left alone in the house. Not that he minded; it gave him an opportunity to learn to live on his own. He could cook, he could clean up his mess, he could get himself off to school, he could finish his homework and get himself to bed. Washing his clothes was still out of his realm; the machine the Strongs owned had entirely too many buttons and dials for him to figure out on his own.

Even when the Strongs were in the house, Matt felt invisible. Worse were the times Sara and Jason made him feel like an invalid. Matt asked Sara about the washing machine, how to tell if it was on the cycle he needed, but Sara laughed at his request. “You don’t need to use the washing machine, Matty. I can wash your clothes for you, don’t you worry.” He frowned, hating when she called him Matty. Alice was drunk when she called him Matty, but Sara was just condescending.

The first time Jason came home to find him cooking, Matt was sure he’d have a coronary. “Matty, what do you think you’re doing? You should have waited for one of us to get home, we could have cooked this for you!” It was only scrambled eggs, something he’d been making for as long as he could remember.

Thanksgiving in the Strong household was a small, quiet affair. Neither Jason nor Sara had any family in the vicinity, leaving just the three of them for a Thanksgiving dinner of turkey, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Matt wanted to help, but Sara merely patted him on the head and sent him off to do his own thing. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Matty.”

“It’s Matt,” he mumbled, shuffling off to his room to listen to a book on tape.

The worthless feelings he experienced when they tried to keep him down only pushed him to be more independent. Matt went to Mass on Sundays that the Strongs were working, went to the library after school, even went to the grocery store when he realized there were no eggs, using the money that Sara gave him every morning for lunch which he rarely ate. The independence told him that he was going to be okay when he aged out of the system.

Matt woke to a slamming sound, followed by the sound of a car starting up. He fumbled for his talking clock, pressing the button on top. “Two twenty-four A.M.” Too early. Matt closed his eyes and faded into sleep.

When he woke again, Matt knew something was wrong. “Eight thirty-seven A.M.” “Shit.” He was used to waking up at six, when Jason’s alarm sounded, blaring loudly in Matt’s ear even from down the hall. No alarm. The entire house was silent. Too silent.

Matt walked down the hall to the master bedroom, knocking before opening the door even though he knew the room was empty. He didn’t have to enter to know that the bed was cold; no one had been in it for hours. The shower floor in both bathrooms was dry. The only residual smell of food in the kitchen was from the pizza they’d had for dinner the night before. Wherever the Strongs were, they hadn’t been in the house for hours.

He was late for school, blaming it on getting on the wrong train.

The house was still empty when he arrived after school. Not one for television since they didn’t have Food Network, Matt sat in the living room and listened to one of the audiobooks loaded onto his mp3 player, one earbud out to listen for the sound of Sara or Jason’s key in the door. The sound never came. With both of his foster parents gone, Matt did as he usually did when they worked late: fixed himself a dinner of shells and cheese, washed his dishes, did his homework, and prepared his things for the next day of school. Nine o’clock and he was still alone. Matt wasn’t entirely concerned, since it wasn’t the first time he’d been left alone; the Strongs took off for a weekend in Atlantic City before without telling him. But that was a weekend, just Friday, Saturday, Sunday. This was the middle of the week, a Tuesday.

Matt triple checked all of the locks before going to bed.

Wednesday. He woke to the sound of his own alarm for the first time in ages, nearly falling off the bed in fright.

The first few days were a mini-vacation. Matt was proving just how independent he was, something he was proud of. But he was still confused, not sure what happened to Jason and Sara.

A week passed. Matt’s pride of being independent became full-blown panic. His supply of clean clothes was dwindling. The fresh food in the fridge was going bad, and he had no idea how to cook any of the boxed or canned items. No one had even noticed that Matt was completely alone.

The police finally came to the door to take Matt back to the orphanage, a week and a half after the Strongs left. Tax evasion, they told him. They were caught at the border to Canada, and when questioned, revealed that they’d abandoned their foster child because they thought a blind boy would just slow them down, a foster child they had taken in only because of the reimbursement that wasn’t considered taxable income. To them, Matt was just a money figure. It hurt, the fact that they would rather just leave him on his own rather than let him slow them down, but the hurt didn’t last long before it became anger. He’d been abandoned before, but this was a first.

It was the only time he was happy to return to the orphanage.

\---

Six hours in a car. Matt has never been in a car for so long, and he can barely stand it. The constant motion of the car – rocking, vibrating, bouncing – leaves him with motion sickness, and Edward has to stop the car every hour for Matt’s equilibrium to even out. Matt feels guilty, tagging along with Foggy’s family on their vacation to Anna’s sister’s in Vermont and making them stop so much, but no one says anything about it. They seem fine, “I need to use the restroom anyway”, “We _are_ running low on gas”, “Good timing, we can get something to eat.” Matt’s sure they’re just making up excuses to spare his feelings.

When they aren’t stopped, Matt is tense, sitting in the back of the minivan with Foggy, trying to ignore the sounds of the engine, the cars thundering by, the sickness he’s feeling, but thank _God_ Foggy got his parents to move the music to the front speakers because it’s one less thing to overwhelm him. “Have you ever been in a car before?” Foggy asks when they stop for the third time, just past Northampton, Massachusetts.

Matt sits on the curb in front of the gas station, shakes his head slightly. “Not this long,” he admits. “The longest was from the orphanage to Jamaica, Queens. And back. Twice.”

“Why twice?”

He doesn’t want to relive the experiences, but he also doesn’t want to keep so much of himself from Foggy. Three years. It’s the longest anyone has been around him, and he’s starting to think that maybe Foggy really will stick around. “I lived with a woman there when I was thirteen. I liked living with her. But… but she died.” He hears Foggy inhale a quiet gasp, but he keeps talking. If he doesn’t, he won’t talk about it at all. “The second time was when I was sixteen. A middle-aged couple took me in, but they were too busy with their careers to really pay attention to me. And then they left. They were being investigated for tax evasion, so they fled to Canada. And left me behind.”

“They just left you behind? That’s incredibly shitty.”

Matt shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad. It was really the first chance I had to be independent.”

“Are you two ready to go?” Anna asks as she comes out of the gas station, Candace following after her. “Matt, I bought you some Dramamine and ginger ale. I thought that might help your motion sickness.”

It doesn’t help. The taste of the chemicals only makes him sicker. It’s an incredibly long three hours to go to Vermont.

Matt hates the Fourth of July. The smell of smoke and chemicals and fire assault his olfactory system, the air tastes of sulfur and carbon, and the sound, the sound alone was enough to make Matt envy the dead. Booms, shrill screeches, popping, everything all at once. It was a nightmare that people around him cheered.

There are still hours until the fireworks begin when they finally arrive, and as the hours pass, Matt finds himself growing more and more uncomfortable, so much so that even Foggy notices. “Hey, man, you alright? That’s your third beer since we arrived.”

Matt hadn’t even been keeping track. He should stop, really, being drunk only makes him lose control of his senses, and he needs to keep the reins tight if there are going to be explosives. “I don’t… I don’t like fireworks,” he says. “They’re loud, they smell, it’s just not pleasant.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Foggy moves closer to him on the picnic bench, his voice dropping to keep the conversation private. He smells of sweat and cherry body wash and onions – _Foggy, we have_ got _to talk about the ridiculous amount of onions you eat_ – and Matt finds himself relaxing with the familiar sounds and smells of his best friend. “Seriously, Matt, you’ve _got_ to talk about stuff that makes you uncomfortable. I’m not a mind reader, as cool as that would be.”

Matt picks at the skin on the side of his middle fingernail. “Sorry.”

Foggy sighs. “Don’t be sorry. Hey, we don’t have to go to the fireworks display. What’s so great about fireworks, anyway? If you’ve experienced one show, you’ve experienced them all.” He claps Matt on the shoulder, shaking him gently. “We can just stay at the house, claim we’ve got studying to do. The bar exam _is_ at the end of the month.”

“Foggy, we can’t just lie…”

“Matt, it’s not technically a lie. We _do_ have studying to do. We just won’t tell them that we have no studying materials.” Matt frowns, but says nothing. “If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll just tell them you don’t like fireworks. No one’s going to care that you don’t want to go. It’s not like we brought you here _just_ for fireworks.”

“Why did you bring me?”

“You’ve been to every family gathering we’ve had since that wedding our first year. It wouldn’t be right if you weren’t here.”

No one minds that they don’t go. Matt can still hear the explosions from the house, but they aren’t as bad as if he’d been right there. They remain in the basement living space, the room both of them will be sleeping in for two nights. Foggy plays a movie, _The Mighty Ducks,_ and narrates for Matt as he has for almost every other movie and television show they’ve watched together, even though most of his narration is more commentary than actual narration. “Candace thinks I look like Fulton, but I was four when this movie came out. Although this movie and the next two did make me join hockey for all of one year before I realized I have no balance on ice skates.” Matt loves Foggy’s version of narrating much more than any other version.

They finish the first movie and are just starting the second when everyone arrives back at the house. Anna comes down to check on the boys, says goodnight, and retreats back up the stairs. Halfway into the second movie and Foggy’s narration is slowing down. “Why don’t we call it a night?” Matt suggests.

“Yeah, sure. Sounds like a plan.” Foggy pulls out the sofa bed while Matt changes into his pajamas in the basement bathroom.

The sandpaper-like sheets and the metal bar in the middle of his back keep him from sleeping. “Foggy?” he whispers, knowing that Foggy’s already asleep. “Thank you. For everything.” He falls asleep eventually, finding himself not entirely hating the Fourth of July.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to put together, I hit a rough patch mental-wise and then got the flu, so that was great.
> 
> I really wanted just some Foggy and Matt time, so the last half kind of focused on that. Needed something nice after Matt was literally abandoned lol.


	6. The Fifth Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't blame me, blame this comment: http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/1296.html?thread=1428752#cmt1428752 "okay here's the thing MAY I SUGGEST, one of these times being matt's mum?"
> 
> Because I want Matt to suffer all the pain. Hahaha.
> 
> But for real, I'm not familiar enough with the comics, I just know she left because she had post-partum depression that turned into paranoia and her trying to assault baby Matt.
> 
> And this chapter is like wicked long, but how could I NOT have a long chapter for this last fall-out?

**Chapter Five:**

Seventeen years old, eighteen fast approaching. Matt had until the end of his senior year before he would have to leave the orphanage, set out on his own, and he was absolutely dreading it. He’d turned his attention to his studies, filled out any scholarship he could possibly apply for, even though he was terrified of the thought of what he might do once he was out of high school. While he’d basically been on his own when he was living with the Strongs, he’d never _truly_ been on his own.

Whispers. About him. Matt tried not to eavesdrop, tried to offer everyone their privacy, but sometimes it was difficult to _not_ overhear things. “It’s about time she took some responsibility.” Matt frowned. She? Who was she? The whispers stopped almost as soon as they started, Mother Superior chastising the Sisters for their gossiping, and Matt wasn’t able to find out who “she” was.

A fifth family was in the works. Matt didn’t know who it was, didn’t particularly care. Whoever it was, he only had to last until the end of his senior year, and then the inheritance his father left him, the inheritance he’d only recently learned of, would help get him started with the rest of his life. Whatever it was that he would be doing.

“Matthew?” A familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard since after Stick left. His stomach churned just thinking of Stick, thinking of the years he’d worked to suppress the warrior, the _devil_ , that resided within him.

“Sister Maggie?”

“It’s just Maggie now, Matthew. And… and I’ve come to take you home with me.”

He was stunned, to say the least. “Why?”

“I… I couldn’t bear to see you go to another unloving home. It hurt me, knowing what you were going through.” Her heartbeat was steady; she wasn’t lying, it really had hurt her to know. But… why?

Matt didn’t question it. He packed up what few things he owned and followed Maggie to a new life.

Living with Maggie took Matt back to his home: Hell’s Kitchen. It was such familiar territory, so near to where he’d lived with his father, that Matt felt at ease for the first time in years. Matt would sit on the fire escape and just listen to the city, his city, and he knew that no matter what happened after high school, Hell’s Kitchen was where he belonged.

“Matthew?” Matt never corrected her, never told her that he preferred “Matt”. He enjoyed how his name flowed from her mouth, a silvery voice of lightness that was familiar and comforting. “Were you… were you happy? Living with Jack?”

The conversation starter confused him. No one had ever asked about his father, and when they did speak of him, they never called him Jack, just Jonathan, the name he was given at birth. “Y-yes,” Matt stammered. “I mean, things weren’t the best, but he was my dad.”

“He was a good man.” Matt waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She began to talk about school instead. “I can walk you to school, and I’m sure I can take my lunch in time to walk you home.”

Matt shook his head. “I can make it on my own. If you walk me there the first day, I’ll remember the way.”

“Of course.” She sighed, a breathy sound. “It’s been so long since I last saw you. I keep forgetting you’re not that lost little boy you once were.”

Matt wasn’t a little boy, but he still felt lost.

Returning to the school he’d once been a part of, a school where kids still remembered the boxer’s son who wouldn’t fight back, brought the bullies out of the woodwork. Matt let their insults, their petty behavior, roll off of him like water off a duck’s back. He didn’t care, was just trying to get through the year, get out on his own.

“Hey, Matt, you get a new mommy? Someone finally decide to take you in?” Laughter. There were three of them, stopping him outside of the arcade, the blasts and beeps and shrills of the games inside an annoyance to Matt’s ears. “Heard your last family took off to Canada rather than having to deal with you.”

Taking them out wasn’t hard. Practically one punch each and they were down, but the rage that had been building inside of him unleashed, fueled by the metallic tang of blood that coated the air. Someone from the arcade had to drag him off of the boy he was pummeling into the ground.

The rage dissolved into guilt and shame by the time he arrived back at the apartment, the skin on his knuckles broken and bloodied, his lip split and swollen from a fist one of the boys managed to hit him with. Matt felt sick; the tang of blood that fueled the devil in him now made his stomach turn. As the time ticked by, closer and closer to Maggie arriving home, Matt’s guilt grew. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the evidence of the fight from her.

Her small gasp when she saw him made him wince. “Oh, Matthew…” Her soft comment made Matt’s hands curl into fists against his thighs. “What did you do?”

“Some… some boys were teasing me,” he admitted, the reason for his rampage suddenly so trite. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Water running in the kitchen as she dampened a handful of paper towels. “I knew your father. Did you know that?” Matt shook his head, not sure if she saw or not, but she continued nonetheless. “We met before I joined the church. He was just starting out boxing, wasn’t very well known.” She crossed the kitchen and knelt in front of him, dabbing lightly at his lip with the chilly paper towels, causing Matt to wince. “The first time I saw him, his lip was split open, his eye was black, and the skin on his knuckles was raw. But my God, was he a handsome man.” Maggie dabbed antibiotic cream on the cut, the taste making his nose wrinkle in disgust. “Hold out your hands for me. No, knuckles up. Stop making that face.”

“This cream tastes bad.”

“Remember that next time you want to get into a fight.” She gently cleaned his knuckles, her fingers cold against his skin. “His mother warned me, told me that the Murdock boys had the devil in them, that a sweet girl like me could do better.” Maggie laughed, a musical sound to his ears, and smeared more antibiotic cream on his knuckles. “I didn’t believe her. Jack was so sweet and caring. But… but then I saw him in the ring. And it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.” She placed her hands on Matt’s shoulders. “Don’t be a fighter, Matthew. Don’t use your fists.”

He didn’t ask if she thought he had the devil in him. He already knew he did.

Christmas was around the corner. It would be the first Christmas with a family, his first Christmas outside of the orphanage, and his excitement was palpable. Maggie put up a small plastic tree that smelled of peppermint and artificial pine, the needles bristling against Matt’s skin when he brushed his fingers across the branches, small glass orbs clinking against each other with every slight movement. Coupled with the quiet hum of the tiny lights that were warm to the touch, the carols that Maggie hummed absentmindedly, and the smell of baked goods that came from every apartment in the building, Matt couldn’t help but smile. It was much livelier than it was in the orphanage.

Christmas morning brought a dusting of snow over the city. Matt woke when the atmospheric pressure dropped, a dense cold front pressing in and overtaking the warm front. He could feel it, could taste the moisture in the air, but God what he’d give to be able to see the snow falling over the city. Matt sat on the edge of his bed until he heard Maggie stirring in the next room.

Matt unwrapped a new pair of pajamas, a new sweater, and the sixth Harry Potter book on audio CD. “I’m sorry it’s not a lot, Matthew,” Maggie apologized.

“No, Maggie, this is great. It’s more than I’ve gotten in a long time. I’m just sorry I didn’t get anything for you.”

Maggie ran a hand over his hair. “Just having you here is enough.” Matt smiled and helped her clean up the mess of wrapping paper. “What were Christmases like with Jack?”

“We never really made a big deal out of Christmas. There wasn’t room for a tree, there wasn’t money for a lot of presents, and Dad usually had a match around then, so sometimes he wasn’t even there.” He didn’t tell her about the times that he was there, fresh from a fight, usually a loss, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. “He still got me a present, though. Usually just something small. One year he got me a few Beanie Babies. My favorite was the moose.”

“Good. I’m glad things were good with both of you.”

As the new year arrived, Matt’s hopes began to rise. Just a few months until graduation, and things were working out with Maggie. He might be able to have a home after all.

His hopes crashed as soon as they took flight.

Maggie’s behavior changed. Suddenly she was always sleeping, barely eating, not focusing on anything at all. Matt wasn’t just taking care of himself, he was taking care of her as well. He didn’t mind, not too much, just so long as he still had a home to return to, someone who actually cared about him.

“Always crying, always crying, always crying.” The mumbling outside his door woke him. Maggie, pacing the floor, mumbling to herself. The mumbling started as the city began to thaw and spring began returning life to the city, her mumbling and the warbles of birds returning keeping Matt from receiving any sleep. “He came between us, I knew he would, I was right all along. I told him so, I told him I’m not a bad mother, I told him.” The door opened quietly. “Have to end this. He can’t corrupt me, no no no, the devil is in this boy, he can’t corrupt me.” Matt remained still in the bed, trying to figure out what the thing in her hand was. As she raised her hands above him, he figured it out: it was a knife. Matt rolled off of the bed just in time, as Maggie brought the knife down right where his torso had been. “No! No, you can’t have him!” she cried.

“Maggie, stop, what’re you doing?” Matt couldn’t keep the fear from his voice, not understanding why she was trying to hurt him.

Maggie slashed the air and Matt dodged easily. “Devil! Devil!” Matt moved past her, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the knife. It caught his arm, drawing a thin line of blood, the taste and smell painting his senses.

The door busted open as Matt entered the main room of the apartment, blood running down his arm. “NYPD! Put down your weapon!” Matt’s heart pounded in his chest as fear-induced adrenaline flooded his body and he collapsed on the floor. One of the officers rushed to his side while the other kept his gun trained on the knife-wielding Maggie. “Ma’am, put down the knife!”

Matt tried to get out of going to the hospital. It wasn’t that deep of a cut, he was perfectly fine, he just needed a breather and he’d go back to the apartment. The paramedics drove him to the hospital, stitched up the cut on his arm, and informed him to wait for the police. He waited in one of the hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room, the smell of antiseptic doing nothing to cover the stench of disease and death. He hated hospitals. There was never a good time that he’d been in a hospital.

The police weren’t going to let him go back with Maggie. “Son, we found anti-depressants in her room that she hadn’t been taking. Stopping them suddenly caused a severe reaction that led to her psychotic break. She’s under psychiatric care right now, but… I’m sorry.” The officer didn’t want to tell him what he already knew: he was going back to the orphanage. Matt didn’t care. He’d heard it before. Why should this time have been any different?

“Eighteen years old and he’s never had a lasting relationship. Poor boy.”

The Sisters always talked about him like he wasn’t even there. Even if he was on the next floor or six rooms away, that didn’t mean he was fair game. Sometimes he considered interrupting them, informing them, “I’m blind, not deaf.”

“I can’t believe they even let him go with her. She left the picture because of a psychotic break to begin with. What did they think would happen?” They were talking about Maggie. No surprise there.

“She’s his mother, Sister Olivia. She had every right to take him. She should have done it _much_ sooner, if you ask me.”

His mother. Maggie was his mother. Maggie knew she was his mother, hadn’t even told him, made him think that she’d dated Jack and left before Matt’s mother came into the picture. Matt felt like he was going to be sick. The feeling passed, replaced with hurt. She was his mother? Why did she leave him? What was so wrong with him that even his mother couldn’t handle him?

He cried himself to sleep for the first time in years.

\---

“This is, what, the third time you’ve fallen taking out the trash? You need a seeing-eye dog, Matt. Or you need to stop taking out your trash so much.” Matt is trying to pay attention to Foggy’s chastising, but his entire body is pulsating in pain and his ribs grind with every breath he takes. Two broken ribs. Meditating helps with the pain, is helping them heal faster, but it’s not a magical two day cure. “I know you’re sensitive to smells, but that doesn’t mean you need to take out your trash every time you throw something away.”

“I know, Foggy. Can we talk about something else? _Anything_ else?”

“Sorry.”

Matt sighs, grimacing against the pain in his torso. “No, Foggy, _I’m_ sorry. It’s been a rough few nights, and I’m taking it out on you.” In the few weeks since taking up his nightly vigilante act, his sleep has diminished rapidly, leaving him irritable and exhausted. Short naps during the day help. Letting Foggy think he has non-24 and needs the naps helps, although lying to him doesn’t help. He rubs the bridge of his nose, his hand bumping up his sunglasses. “Did your mom say why she wanted us both over for dinner tonight?”

“No, she didn’t.” His heartbeat changes, a lie, which makes Matt think it’s a surprise party or something along the lines. He hates surprise parties. Probably because he always knows they’re coming. “She just said to make sure we’re both there. Since we left Landman and Zack, she probably just wants to make sure we’re actually getting food. My bagel supply is running dangerously low, Matt. What am I supposed to eat when those run out?”

Matt laughs, winces. “I’ll buy you more bagels, Foggy.”

Before they’re even in the house, Matt can smell baked goods, the sweetness flowing out of the house and onto the sidewalk. Inside the house, he realizes it isn’t just baked goods, but there are savory components as well: chicken, potatoes, butter, garlic, sage, other scents he knows but can’t place. “Mom! We’re here!” Foggy calls, taking Matt’s coat and scarf to hang them up, leaning Matt’s cane against the wall.

“Boys, we’re in the kitchen!” Matt takes Foggy’s elbow and allows him to lead them to the kitchen, offering a quick hello to Edward sitting in the front room, the television playing some comedy show with a laugh track. “Matty! I’m so glad you could come! I’d give you a hug, dear, but I’m a little messy.”

“That’s okay. I’ll take one later.” Foggy pulls out a chair for Matt at the dining table before sitting down beside him. “What’re you making? It smells delicious.”

“We have roasted chicken breasts, potato gnocchi with a garlic and sage butter sauce, an asparagus terrine, and king cake.”

“King cake?”

“Yes. Didn’t Foggy tell you?”

Matt angles his face toward Foggy, giving him what he hopes is a glowering look. “I kind of wanted it to be a surprise,” Foggy admits.

“I hate surprises,” he mutters, quiet enough that only Foggy can hear it. Foggy pokes him in the arm, letting him know that he heard him.

“Well, we wanted to do something for _you_ , Matt. You’ve been with us to family gatherings, but we’ve never done something just for you. So Candace thought we should celebrate Fat Tuesday with you. Before Lent starts. Since you’re Catholic. I hope this is okay, this meal. Most of the recipes I found were for fried foods, and I know you don’t like fried foods.”

Fat Tuesday. He knew what day it was, kept it in the back of his mind, would be fasting the next day and avoiding meat, alcohol, and rich foods until Lent was over, but he’d never really gone out of his way to celebrate Fat Tuesday. In the orphanage, it was called Pancake Day, the only day of the year they were given pancakes to eat.

Say something, say something, they’re waiting for you, “Thank you, Anna. Candace. This means… This means a lot.” Foggy claps him on the back and it’s all he can do to not pass out from the pain.

With dinner comes alcohol. A _lot_ of alcohol. Matt forgets the pain he’s in, forgets the constant sound of his ribs grinding, forgets the sirens, screams, cries of the city around him. Instead, he focuses on the Nelsons, Edward, Anna, Candace, and Foggy, all of them putting this together just for him, for _him_. He’s beyond touched. He feels… _loved._

Foggy’s slice of king cake has the baby hidden inside of it. “You throw the party next year, Foggy!” Matt tells him, louder than he needs, the alcohol going to his head.

After they’ve sufficiently stuffed themselves and drank themselves under the table, after what feels like only twenty minutes but is actually four hours of just eating and talking and laughing, Foggy tells Matt they need to leave. “If I stay much longer, Matty, I’m not gonna be able to make it out the door.” Matt happily accepts a hug from everyone, not even wincing when they squeeze his broken body, and lets Foggy lead him out the door. “God. I’m getting to old for this drinking business, Matty. I’m not as young as I was in law school.”

Matt laughs. “We graduated a year and a half ago!”

“It was a different time! My liver was fresh then!”

They’ve sobered slightly by the time they reach the train to take them back to Midtown. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know you don’t like surprises, but… I just wanted this to be a surprise. I thought it might be one you’d like.”

Matt shakes his head. “It’s okay, Foggy. I… I actually liked this surprise.”

“You did? Oh, thank God. I’ve spent a week worrying that you’d hate it.”

“No, it was great. It’s the best time I’ve had in a long time.” Matt fiddles with his cane, tapping it lightly on the ground of the train. “Did I ever tell you I was almost adopted?”

Foggy nods slowly. “I nodded. Five times, right?”

“Yeah.” Matt tells him about all of them. Even the last one, the one that hurts him the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also not familiar enough with religion (Catholicism, really, there's so much to know, like how do actual Catholics remember it all????) to really know what's going on with Fat Tuesday/Ash Wednesday/Lent, so if anything is off, I apologize.


	7. A Family of His Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Here's the end of this journey, I have enjoyed it so much, and I thoroughly hope you've enjoyed it too! Thank you all for the kind words and kudos, it really means so much to me!

**Chapter Six:**

Christmas at two in the morning and it’s fifty-two degrees. No chance of a white Christmas this year. Not that Father Lantom is complaining; the warm weather has been a blessing for his arthritis. Cold winters always take a toll on his knees and back. Every year he tells himself, “This will be it, this is the year I retire and move to warm and sunny Florida.” The year comes and goes, and still he’s in New York City. Father Lantom can’t bear to think of leaving his church, his parishioners, the city he’s come to love.

He drags the two large trash bags into the alley, remnants of the coffee and donuts offered before the Midnight Mass, exhaling. Getting them outside was one story; getting them up and into the dumpster was another story entirely.

“Father Lantom.”

He starts, turns at the voice, and feels his heart skip a beat when he sees the figure in the shadows, the devil horns prominent even in the darkness. The devil holds up his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” A familiar voice, one he’s come to know over the past year. Not a devil at all.

“Matthew. You know how to make an entrance.”

He steps forward, removing his mask, and gives Father Lantom a grin. Even in the dim light of the alley, Father Lantom can see the bruises that are forming on Matt’s jawline. “Need a hand?” he asks, gesturing to the trash bags.

“Please.”

Matt moves to gather the bags, throwing them into the dumpster one at a time. “You gave a beautiful service tonight.”

“You were here?”

A light shrug and Matt lifts his face to the surrounding buildings. “I was around.”

“Of course.” Father Lantom gestures to the side entrance. “Would you like to come in for a latte? I’m about to make one for myself, keep myself awake for the dawn service. No one else is here.” The image of one of the Sisters walking in on him and the devil having a latte is comical to think of.

Matt shakes his head. “Maybe another time. I have somewhere to be right now. Merry Christmas, Father Lantom.” He slips the mask back over his head and disappears into the shadows.

“Merry Christmas, Matthew. Godspeed.”

\---

“ _Karen. Karen. Karen._ ” Matt fumbles for his phone, answering it on speakerphone.

“Merry Christmas, Matt!” Karen’s enthusiastic tone that he normally enjoys hearing is too chipper and painful after only three hours of sleep. “I didn’t know if you’d answer, I thought you might have gone to Mass.”

He forces himself to sit up in the bed so he doesn’t fall asleep on her. “No, I went to Midnight Mass,” he says with a groan. The injuries he received from the beating last night are throbbing, and he knows he’s going to have a hell of a time explaining them to the Nelsons. “Did you make it to Vermont all right?”

“Yeah, back home in good old Fagan Corners.” He hears her exhale a small sigh. “I should have just stayed in New York.  Daddy’s not even here, he’s working on something with cobalt and can’t be bothered to even take _Christmas_ off. And Mom’s… Mom’s just pretending everything’s hunky-dory,” she says, her voice taking on a higher pitch with the last phrase. “Do you know what she’s having for breakfast? Mimosas. Well, she’s having moremosas, because she hasn’t stopped drinking them since she woke up.”

Matt closes his eyes, feeling guilty for wishing the phone call would end so he could go back to sleep. “When you get back, we’ll have an office Christmas party. We’ll even do Secret Santa.”

Karen laughs. “At least I have something to look forward to. I should go, make sure Mom isn’t passed out. Merry Christmas, Matt.”

“Merry Christmas, Karen,” Matt manages to get out before she hangs up. “ _Screen locked.”_ The locked screen tells him the call is over, and Matt falls back on his bed and is asleep in seconds.

\---

“Matt! Get your ass up!” Matt wakes after what feels like only an hour later, seriously considering murdering his friends if they continue to wake him up. Although from the smell of soy sauce, tamarind, and roasted peanuts, Matt decides to let Foggy off the hook. “You better not be dead in there!”

Matt pulls on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before answering the door. “I’m not dead, but you’re _going_ to be if you pound on my door at seven in the morning again.”

“First, I’m not pounding. I’m knocking forcefully. Second, it’s eleven.” He holds up a bag of take-out. “I bring you food and I get death threats in return. Honestly, Matt, makes me feel all tingly inside.”

Matt shakes his head and steps aside, allowing Foggy to enter. “I thought we weren’t due at your parents’ house until five?”

“We aren’t. But I thought I’d swing by to make sure you weren’t dead, and since you aren’t, how do you feel about making cookies?”

“Foggy, I’m not making cookies.”

Foggy holds up the bag in his hands again. “But I brought take-out. And it’s Christmas, Matty.”

Matt sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll make cookies.”

“Haha, yes! I knew I’d get cookies.”

Matt showers and gets dressed while Foggy sets out their lunch and gathers ingredients needed for cookies. “Today’s Friday, so I didn’t get any meat in yours,” Foggy says as Matt sits down to eat. “And no fish sauce for either of us, I know how you feel about that stuff.”

“Penance is waved on special occasions and holidays that fall on Friday. But thank you, Foggy.” Since learning of his abilities, Foggy has been more mindful of strong smells and sounds. He was careful before, learning quickly after less than a year together, but now he was even more so. At least he’d cut back on the ridiculous amount of onions he ingested.

“Don’t mention it. Really. Don’t. Because this is all I can afford to get you for Christmas this year, buddy.”

“Really? And here I was hoping for a pony.”

“Sorry to crush your dreams.”

After they’ve eaten and cleaned up, Matt sets to work making sugar cookies. Foggy offers assistance, but Matt shakes his head. “I’m fine, Foggy. I have this recipe memorized.” He begins measuring sugar, feeling the raised fractions inside the cups to be sure he has the right ones. “My adoptive mother Nancy taught me this one. I never really had a chance to make it again until my… uh…” He pauses, hands stopping what they were doing. Nearly a decade has passed, but it still hurts when he even thinks about her. “Maggie.”

Foggy understands the pause, knows exactly who Maggie was to Matt. “You don’t have red and green sugar, do you? Make these extra festive.”

“I’m blind, Foggy. How would I know what color sugar I have?”

“Right.” Foggy sets up a bowl of sugar to roll the cookies in and then sets the oven to preheat. “I spent so long thinking you were just blind, now sometimes I forget that you’re still technically blind.”

“It’s fine, Foggy.” A tense silence passes, only for a moment. “Karen called this morning. She sounded like she wasn’t having a good time, so I told her we’d have an office Christmas party on Monday.”

“Great! And you can bake a pie. Or I can bake a pie!”

“Please don’t bake a pie, Foggy.”

“Okay, I burn one pie and suddenly I’m not allowed to bake pies.”

“You _burned_ one, you under-baked three, and you used a cup of salt instead of a cup of sugar in one.”

“In my defense, I was _really_ drunk for that last one.” Matt laughs. “That pie was so bad, though.”

\---

The city is quiet. A true Christmas miracle. Dampness from the early morning rain lingers in the air, and Matt can feel the atmospheric pressure shifting, meaning more rain is on the horizon. He prefers snow to rain. Rain has a sound when it makes contact with the world, thousands of _pit pit pit pit_ , all at once; snow flutters to the ground without a sound, fresh snow acting as a sound dampener and leaving Matt with a moment of peace.

“Here we are, home away from home,” Foggy says as they arrive at the Nelson household. He gives two quick knocks on the door before opening it, calling out “We’re here!” as he and Matt step into the entrance. “And Matt brought cookies!”

“What did you bring?” Candace asks as she comes to greet them.

“I brought my beautiful face and bright, shiny smile. It’s a shame Matt can’t enjoy it like all of you can.” Matt laughs and takes the plate of cookies from Foggy, the three of them making their way to the kitchen. Matt’s been in the house so often, the layout is second nature. Foggy was right when he said “home away from home.”

“Matt, Foggy! I’m so glad you could both make it! And Matt, thank you so much for making cookies. I hope Foggy didn’t help you with these, we both know what a terrible baker he is.”

“Um, he’s also still in the room,” Foggy says with a laugh.

Dinner is a small event, with only Matt, Foggy, Edward, Anna, Candace, and Jackson, Candace’s boyfriend. It’s Jackson’s first time spending time with all of them, first time meeting Matt and Foggy, and Matt can tell he’s nervous, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. It brings up memories of the first time he met Foggy’s family, how nervous he was, how much he wanted to get out of it and avoid any chance of rejection. But rejection never came. What came instead were Thanksgivings, Christmases, birthdays, graduation, weddings, funerals, family dinners with no special occasion needed. He feels a warmth in his chest, but he attributes it to the three glasses of eggnog he’s downed, the oak and smoky sweetness of the bourbon warming as it slides down his throat and into his stomach.

Before they open presents, Foggy digs out the sweaters they wore the Christmas before graduating. Matt’s sweater consists of itchy wool that irritates his skin and a large reindeer with a giant fuzzball nose, and Foggy even has antlers for Matt to wear. They’re all laughing so much they can barely get through the presents, just small things, money’s tight, there are bills to pay, but no one minds how small the presents are.

It’s late by the time Matt and Foggy prepare to leave, both of them still intoxicated. “Take care, dear,” Anna murmurs into Matt’s ear as she embraces him, gently kissing his bruised face. He turns his face and kisses her cheek in return with a quiet “I will” whispered in return.

Candace and Jackson leave as well, following Matt and Foggy to the train station, walking slowly behind them. “Your brother and his boyfriend are great,” Jackson tells Candace.

Candace giggles. “Matt’s not Foggy’s boyfriend. Matt’s our brother.”

Matt nearly collides with the streetlight, maneuvering just in time.

_Matt’s our brother._

He stews it over the entire train ride, the entire walk back to his apartment where he and Foggy part ways with a hug, the entire trip up the stairs that he can just barely make due to his inebriation. _Can’t even climb stairs, Daredevil can just take Christmas off, I’d do more harm than good right now, Matt’s our brother, Matt’s our brother, Matt’s our brother._

How many times had he heard them tell him that he was part of the family, that it was weird not having him at events, that they loved him, they called him, talked to him? Matt hadn’t believed them, had heard it all too often growing up, that he was part of a family, only to have that family pull the rug out from under him. He was used to being abandoned, was still expecting it even after so long, but hearing Candace, it made him realize… The Nelsons weren’t leaving. The Nelsons were the family he’d dreamed of, the family he’d never gotten to be part of as a child.

Matt crawls into bed after stripping off his clothes, the silk sheets soothing against the irritation from the sweater he’d worn all the way back to Hell’s Kitchen. He has a family. He’s had a family since the wedding that Foggy dragged him to. He has friends, he has people who care about him, he has people who love him.

Matt falls asleep with a smile on his face and a warmth in his chest that he knows isn’t just from the alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, Matty gets a happy ending.


End file.
